


Blow Me One Last Kiss, And Again

by miekhead



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1990s, Birthday Party, Cat works for NYTimes, Closeted Character, F/F, Kara lands on time, Supergirl au, angsty fluff, supercat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 17:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7942237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miekhead/pseuds/miekhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cat had a one night stand with a club singer who went only by the name 'Kara'. Despite being noticeably distracted at work, Cat tells her colleagues to let it go, that nothing will come of it. Her friends know better and decide to do a bit of meddling for Cat's 30th birthday. </p><p>Kara Zor-El has been on Earth for well over 20 years. She’s a drifter. She tries not to stay in the same place for very long, hoping that her superpowers will remain a secret. She makes a living singing in clubs and bars.<br/>Cat Grant is a junior editor for The New York Times. She refuses to move back to the West Coast, much to the chagrin of her successful mother and generally works too hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blow Me One Last Kiss, And Again

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Supercat AU: [blow me one last kiss]](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/226240) by miekhead. 



> This is the original storyline I had when I made the video - before anybody else paid tribute - just so as not to confuse anybody. 
> 
> I couldn't help myself. I have been getting very distracted whilst trying to write my novel and this just had to come out. It's based on the fanvid that I made, back in April. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1DaXGujdfSk
> 
> I recommend seeing it before reading. 
> 
> Disclaimer: All of Cat's colleagues in this fic are real journalists who used to work for New York Times during 1996 (apart from Trish). I do not own Supergirl, or New York Times for that matter. I just pinched them and borrowed them for a little while. 
> 
> In this fic, Kara landed right on time and is a little over 30.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Cat should hate her work peers. She really should. She’s thirty now, yes, but that doesn’t mean the world should stop to help her celebrate. She shouldn’t have to give up a cozy night in with her computer and the Al Gore article about the Vice President’s involvement at the Buddhist Hsi Lai Temple fundraiser she's been working on. She wrote this one herself. It’s already golden, of course, but needs an extra few hours of going over. And now here she is, drinking wine among overly smiley co-workers.

They’re up to something, she knows that much. They’re smiling, which is fine, but it’s a little too saccharine. They’re grinning at her, not with her. They side-eye each other. Cat even thinks she saw a wink and a nudge coming from Janny Scott of all people.

She sighs, swirling her wine. Not that it needs swirling, it’s a cheapish sauvignon bought for her by one of the interns, but something is setting her off. Her stomach’s in knots and she’s pretty sure that whatever her co-workers are up to, it’s about to materialize very soon. Of course, she’ll have to say thank you to whatever it is, with her kindest eyes and act shocked. She has that look down to a tee after working for Arthur Ochs Sulzberger Jr. He likes to play practical jokes on everybody. Nobody sees them coming.

At all.

At least, he doesn’t think that they do. The team don’t let poor Arthur know that he’s a man as see-through as a fish bowl.

Her mind takes her away from the situation and she thinks about Kara, snorting with laughter in Cat’s bed. She’d dropped a bowl of Cheerios onto her lap (as well as the Egyptian cotton sheet with a 200 thread count) and apparently the look on Cat’s face had set off a giggling fit.

With anybody else, the unimpressed look on her face would have expelled any bed partner from the apartment. But Kara was… Kara. She was one of the only people not scared of Cat. She didn’t even know who her mother was for goodness sake.

She was just Kara. A singer, with a stunning voice, who wore silly ripped jeans and burped in her sleep.

She had only had one night with her and still, Cat could not get this damn woman from her mind. Perhaps the copious amount of alcohol she had drank that night had actually skewed her memories. Maybe Kara wasn’t even that fun, or attractive, or incredibly sweet in bed. Maybe she wasn’t able to make her come with the mere touch of her tongue.

It was probably the alcohol. Cat almost nods to herself. Definitely the alcohol.

She sighs and looks back down at her glass. The entertainment is about to start. Starks’s Bar usually shows some great acts. It’s the only reason she hasn’t bid farewell to her work friends and sent herself home.

The music begins, a strange beat and a song she does not recognise. It’s almost unworldly, and definitely doesn’t fit in with the current music market.

Peculiar.

Interest piqued, Cat looks to Trisha, who is grinning like a cat that has caught the canary, two mice and a roast beef dinner. She frowns at her best friend. The stage is empty.

Then it isn’t.

Two women take to the stage, and begin to sing. From far away, Cat can just about make out their figures. Slender and athletic, with a nervous energy. Curvaceous and proud.

The duet begins, lyrics not quite making sense. Cat smiles as they sing, she’s not sure why. The song is still alien to her, but has an addictive, primitive beat to it. The repetition is enough to take Cat’s attention away from her strangely acting friends and towards the music.

Both singers complement each other relatively well. It’s odd to look around and see people sitting down at tables. This is dancing music, pure and simple. She wants to get up and dance, find a partner for the night and take them home. Their music is doing that to her, filling her up with daydreams and distractions.

Their choreographed movements are sweet, and Cat let herself get taken away by the first verse. She sips at her drink, smiles at their dancing. They’re almost comedic, so proud, their movements so well-rehearsed that it’s somewhat endearing.

Then she freezes.

_I think I finally had enough,_

_I think I maybe think too much,_

_I think this might be it for us,_

_Blow me one last kiss._

She knows this song. She’s heard this song before, sung in her shower at home while she filled a bowl of Cheerios with milk. Milk that was later splattered all over her duvet.

Cat can feel Trisha’s eyes on her, desperate to watch the realisation on her face. This is worse than any prank Mr. Sulzberger has ever pulled on the team.

There on the stage, surrounded by purple lighting and with a backdrop of black satin is Kara. Kara the singer. Kara whose kisses are like honey, whose legs shake when she climaxes. Kara who burps in her sleep, apologises for said burps while still asleep. Kara, the singer whose second name is unknown to her, despite her asking several times.

It’s Kara.

Kara is on stage, singing and dancing as if she’s been rehearsing for week.

Because she has. Kara’s singing in the shower had, at the time, caused a huge smile to spread on Cat’s face.

Now her face is still frozen in disbelief.

The song is insulting, if the lyrics mean anything to the both of them. They’re angry and scathing – it’s the end-of-a-relationship song that you never want to hear be sung to you. So why is Cat getting the butterflies?

Why is Kara looking directly at her, pointing to her heart with both hands as she sings? She’s making ridiculously charming boyband-like gestures; and Cat can see, even from this far back, that her nose is wrinkling and she’s grinning. Her energy is infectious. She jumps around the stage, hopping in circles, until Cat can’t help but smile.

Her smile is so wide, and she lets out a laugh loud enough for her friends to hear. They visibly relax and laugh with her. Her group applaud, they know this is a declaration of some sort.

Cat guesses that that’s what they wanted. Some validation for their one-night-stand. It’s preposterous, this notion that one heart-throbbing dance can persuade her to have a relationship with this woman.

Cat is a junior editor for the New York Times, for goodness sake. She does not have the time or the energy to be in a relationship with a woman, especially a bar singer. Being out of the closet could mean the end of her career. Surely Kara knew that? It wouldn’t work.

Her eyes mist over, in spite of herself. Kara and her singing buddy make hearts in the air. For some reason, the conflicting, juxtaposing lyrics make it work.

Her friends are still watching her every move. Kara’s biceps bulge slightly as she grips the microphone stand, causing a layer of sweat to sheen on Cat’s forehead. She can’t take it. She’s standing, transfixed. She’s thinking so hard that she already has a hangover from the one glass of wine she drank.

She blinks, slowly; she’s figuring her life out in a mere matter of seconds.

Then she leaves her spot at the table and walks away.

Kara’s shoulders deflate. She thought this would work. That’s what Trisha had said. “Girl, she won’t be able to resist you,” she’d told her. And now Cat has disappeared. She’s gone.

Something in the corner of her eye moves closer towards the stage. As she dances she turns, her hair falling around her.

Cat is there, uncharacterisitically stuffing her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. Her face is vulnerable, tears gathering at her eyes.

This shouldn’t be the product of a one-night stand. But it is, and it’s standing there, open, breathing and waiting.

She’s swaying to the music as if the song is a romantic, slow one. She watches Kara jump up and down in a celebratory movement. She smiles reluctantly.

Kara can’t stop smiling. She’s singing about breaking up with someone, calling it quits if you will, but she smiles as she’s doing so. Neither of them are listening to the lyrics anymore.

They’re remembering Cheerios, the laughter, hands grasping breasts, thighs entangled and hips thrusting against one another. They’re seeing the kisses they shared. They remember the conversations the night before, about anything and everything. They remember both being surprised at having quite a lot in common, despite their varied backgrounds and class.

Cat nods slightly as she listens. Her hair is wild and slightly unkempt. Thirteen hour workdays will do that to a person. It’s as if she’s psyching herself up for something, and Kara is desperate to find out what that is.

Kara risks a glance to her left where Cat is still standing. Cat’s looking her up and down, slowly. She can see her mind debating with itself. Writing out a persuasive article to muse over. Only the article is and will be life changing. Kara can imagine the cogs spinning around in Cat’s mind.  

The song finishes. Kara is holding both hands in the air triumphantly and Cat, Cat is smiling. She can’t help but smile.

The audience applauds humbly. Cat hears Trish whooping towards the back of the room. She knows she put Kara up to this. She’ll be having words. But right now, she can’t do anything else but smile. Because Kara gives a dorky bow and hugs her co-singer tightly. She smiles over at her, over her friend’s shoulder.

They leave the stage. Cat feels the sense of loss immediately, brushes a traitorous tear from her cheek and leaves too. Before she can stop herself she’s pushing her way through to the wings of the stage where draping curtains hang grandly from the Stork’s Bar ceiling.

Kara is there, waiting. She wrings her hands, twisting her fingers nervously.

They are silent, watching each other with a tension that feels so similar to their first night together, just before their first kiss. And because Cat has had a glass of wine, because of the heart gesture, because Kara is stood there looking at the ground with a shyness that Cat can’t understand, Cat kisses her, pushing her up against the wall. It’s not a soft kiss by any means. The impact makes it messy.

She feels Kara grinning into the kiss, finally. She wants to roll her eyes at her, but then Kara is kissing back and spins them around. Cat’s back hits the wall with a dull thud and soon arms are wrapped around her neck, holding her close.

Kara’s tongue is soft, probing. Cat lets her in until Kara’s the one to pull back with a ragged breath.

“Happy birthday,” she whispers. She smiles again, her expression open, vulnerable and available.

“Thank you,” Cat can’t stop herself.  Her voice is just as fragile. She bites back a mirroring smile, presses her hand against Kara’s cheek and takes her hand. She’s pulling on Kara’s arm towards the bar.

Kara suddenly looks nervous again. “Where are we going?” She wants to tell Cat about the second set she’s due to perform in an hour, but it dies on her lips.

“First we’re getting you a drink. Then you’re buying me a birthday drink.” She pauses and turns towards Kara, effectively pressing herself against the taller woman. She leaves a wanting, slow kiss on the singer’s lips. “And then you’re coming to my place once you finish work.”

“For real?” Kara has that stupid grin on her face again. “What about…” She can’t finish her sentence.

She means the unanswered phonecalls, the messages sent to NYT. Cat closes her eyes for a second, swallows the guilt down and looks back into Kara’s searching, worried eyes. “We can talk about that another time,” she says softly, her eyes are apologetic. Kara blinks and her eyes widen at the notion of them spending more time together. It draws a smile from Cat. She presses another kiss to her lips, this time it’s chaste. “For now… I would like to buy you a drink.”

That magic smile is back on Kara’s face. She nods, letting herself be dragged out by the hand towards the bar. They sit, knee to knee on high stools at the bar, heads together in deep, bashful conversation. They ignore Trish’s celebratory whoops and the knowing glances from Cat’s co-workers. They have all the time in the world to deal with interfering friends, coming out stories and demanding, intolerant mothers.

Tonight it’s Cat’s thirtieth birthday, and she is going to enjoy it while it lasts.


End file.
